


I Don't Have The Words To Say, So I'll Leave It At Your Feet

by ThereIsNoTragedyInThat



Series: The Witcher Bingo 2020 Fills [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Pre-Slash, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:41:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23585530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat/pseuds/ThereIsNoTragedyInThat
Summary: Geralt and Jaskier sharing a bed after a very long day.Witcher Bingo Fill: Bed Sharing
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: The Witcher Bingo 2020 Fills [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1697797
Comments: 15
Kudos: 192





	I Don't Have The Words To Say, So I'll Leave It At Your Feet

Geralt moved slowly through the abandoned streets of the village. Beneath his weary feet sand and gravel shifted, held together by nothing more then the mud. This village was far from any form of civilization which was exactly why Geralt liked it. There was respect here for the Witchers that had become something worthy of mockery. He had taken care of his fifth monster in the past two weeks and for once he was feeling the strain of his profession keenly. Though, it seemed he was no worse for wear then Jaskier.

The bard seemed unhappy. He trudged along beside Geralt and Roach, head tilted down, lute hanging despondently from his fingers, back hunched in decided misery. He had stopped jabbering nearly three hours into their journey toward the village, eyes going a little distant and frown only getting worse with each passing hour.

Geralt had been grateful. Blessed peace that was hard won wherever the bard was concerned but he was finding he didn’t like this much better. Jaskier wasn’t made for these long journeys and though he’d proven himself steadfast it was disturbing to find a prickle of guilt thrumming beneath his skin.

With an internal sigh, Geralt steered Roach toward one of the two inns available in the small village. Usually, he’d go for the more rundown one, with paint peeling from its walls and an innkeeper just desperate enough to take on a Witcher for the night. This time, glancing at Jaskier’s pale face, he aimed for the more well-kept inn. He hoped that the respect of the last few places they had passed through would extend to here and if not…well Geralt wasn’t above promising them Jaskier’s entertainment for the following night. The people would certainly be starved for any kind of happy activity.

Dismounting, Geralt grunted at Jaskier as he passed him a hefty bag of coin, “get us some beds.”

He took it without a word, not even his token complaint about having spent the entire day on the road and the relief of a soft bed. Frowning, Geralt got to preparing Roach and leading him toward the stable. Not for the first time, he tried to shake off the unfamiliarity of protectiveness that flared to life in the bard’s presence. It was a dangerous thing, having a travel companion as a Witcher, to be responsible for someone whom he was putting in near constant danger.

Yet, Geralt found himself unable, unwilling to scare him off since that first day.

It didn’t take long to grain and water Roach, the horse seemingly as tired as he and the bard combined. With a fond smile he patted his flank before heaving up his bag and making his way into the inn. Geralt was unsurprised to find it mostly abandoned, this community relied upon farming and so slept early and woke early, they weren’t going to waste hours away drinking and gambling. As it was, there were but three men dotted at various tables,

“Witcher?” He glanced at the young woman behind the bar, eyeing him wearily. She was clearly the innkeeper’s daughter, resigned to the life fate had chosen for her from her birth. “Your boy has already gone up. Brought some ale and mutton stew with him for ya both.”

Geralt just grunted, “which rooms?”

She turned away, pulling a rag out from behind the counter, “we’ve put ya in the last on the left.”

He didn’t move, waited.

She sighed, pushed back springy red curls with a calloused hand, “we only got the one bed. We’re small, only have four rooms and the other three are full. If you don’t like it, I’ll tell ya the same thing I told the bard, Mr. Rockshire will give ya separate beds and a side of fleas for half the price.”

Geralt considered it. Or at very least, he considered leaving Jaskier here to enjoy his bed while he moved along, after all he was used to sleeping in flea infested places. Except he found himself weary of leaving his bard on his own in one of these dismal towns, especially one whose respect he’d yet to earn.

Without so much as a sigh, Geralt began the trek up the steep and creaking stairs. The floor wouldn’t be so terrible and the next day, when Jaskier was back to his normally talkative self, he’d claim the bed for his own. His generosity had limits.

Opening the door, however, Geralt paused at the sight he was met with. Two bowls of mutton stew were sitting untouched on the small table while Jaskier seemed hard a work creating a makeshift bed on the floor with his bag and extra blankets.

“What are you doing?”

Jaskier glanced up, eyes drooping with exhaustion, “making a bed.”

The sound of his voice, resigned and quiet sent a prickle of irritation across Geralt’s skin. He hated the fact that he was being made to feel poorly by the bard, no matter how unintentional, “you can take the bed Jaskier, I’ll take the floor.”

He shook his head, hair waving limply, “no no no, you’ve been sore all day, don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

“Take the bed bard,” he growled.

Jaskier plopped himself down with a wince, eyes alight for the first time the entire day, “no, I will sleep here.”

Geralt closed the door and walked over to where Jaskier was lounging pathetically against his bag and without a word, he scooped the smaller man up, earning a cry of shrill protest and dropped him onto the soft bed. Action had always been easier than words.

“Honestly Geralt, you’re behaving like a brute!”

He didn’t bother to reply, simply grabbed one of the bowls and shoved it none to kindly into Jaskier’s hands, which were quick to stop it from spilling over the bed. Geralt wasn’t looking forward to the floor, he truly was sore, but he wouldn’t have Jaskier’s complaining to kingdom come the next day, he’d probably knock the man out in frustration.

Sitting at the table, Geralt focused on his own meal, sliding off his swords and placing them comfortably at his side. He had only just reached the bottom of his bowl when Jaskier cleared his throat expectantly. Geralt grunted, already regretting his attempt at cheering up his bard.

“You know,” Jaskier began, fingers strumming absently at his lute. “we can share the bed.”

Geralt stared but Jaskier refused to look at him. He let his eyes drift to the bed itself, doubtful with his massive size but then again…the bard was incredibly small. He wouldn’t normally consider this, would have glared Jaskier into silence at the mere suggestion, not because he minded sharing a bed but because there was something different about the tone of his voice, something hesitant and weary.

“Hmm.”

Jaskier glanced up through his hair, curious.

Geralt sighed, “fine.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” he went back to his meal, scraping the bottom of the bowl. He heard Jaskier standing and stripping, he kept his eyes decidedly down. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t tempted, Geralt knew he had a very healthy libido but thus far he’d stopped himself on acting with Jaskier on it. He wasn’t blind, he saw the bard’s interest, the problem was that Geralt was unwilling to risk the comradery they had developed for the sake of a quick fuck with the man.

The sound of Jaskier slipping beneath the covers was his cue. Geralt stood, ignored where the bard was snuggled comfortably at the far end, and collected the empty bowl from the floor. He moved to disrobe easily; found he didn’t mind Jaskier’s eyes on him while he did so.

Blowing out the candle Geralt moved toward the bed and lifted the cover, getting in with one smooth move. He immediately felt Jaskier’s bare legs slide past his own, the brief contact of his arm and chest. Just as quickly it was gone as they got comfortable and Geralt told himself he didn’t miss the warmth.

It was quiet for several long moments, the dark becoming almost suffocating. Geralt remained stiff despite the softness of the bed…until a thin arm stretched itself over his waist and a familiar face rested on his shoulder.

Geralt said nothing, simply let himself relax and turn his head into Jaskier’s, inhaling lowly. This, he decided, this was enough for now.


End file.
